


Fate

by 514KO



Category: Touhou Project
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-19
Updated: 2021-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-28 03:14:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30133140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/514KO/pseuds/514KO
Summary: It was naught but arrogance to think she could rid London of this vampire; Izayoi realized that now.  But she had already paid the price for that arrogance—with her leg near-lame and bleeding, her edges of her vision beginning to fuzz…  All she could do now: run.
Relationships: Izayoi Sakuya/Remilia Scarlet
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10





	Fate

Izayoi rushes across the rooftops of the city under the blanket of darkness. The edge of adrenaline that’d gotten her this far is wearing thin; with each step, pain shoots up her leg from the gash in her thigh.

The vampire, her pursuer, is nowhere to be seen. Izayoi clutches her golden pocket watch tighter. It, and its ability to freeze time, is now the only thing between her and certain death.

Even though time has stopped, she feels each second melt away.

Within the confines of this frozen world, where the flames of the oil lamps below are frozen in their dance; where her quickened breaths freeze to fog the moment they leave her mouth, only to trail behind her as if smeared by a painter’s brush; where the howl of the wind and the incessant whinnies of the horse-drawn carts below have given way to silence. That all-encompassing silence felt safe, in a way; like a thick woolen blanket she could pull over her head to shut out the rest of the world.

Indeed, she’s untouchable in this world. She’s invincible, practically—

No. No, she isn’t—she curses herself and her arrogance, banishing the thought from her mind. It was only due to that arrogance that she sought out that vampire in the first place, only due to this arrogance that she believed she was anywhere close to ready.

She knows, if just a stir in the pit of her stomach she never wanted to acknowledge—it’s only a matter of time before she makes a mistake.

Izayoi soon comes to the edge of the building she’d been running upon. She looks down and sees the alleyway three stories down.

She takes a sharp breath, and jumps.

She clears the gap—but as she lands, she misjudges her position and puts all her weight onto one foot. It slips, sideways. Her foot buckles; her ankle hits the roof next. She feels a pop and a crack and the shudder of her leg as it collapses. She falls.

Her grip tightens as she hits the ground; the lid of the pocket watch closes with a click, and her safe bubble of frozen time evaporates.

In an instant, a rush of stimuli floods her senses: the chill of the howling wind rushing through the tears in her dress; the smell of manure and chimney smoke hanging heavy in the air; and her own unconscious yelp as she claws at the watch, trying to open it again—and then the pain of her ankle.

Her clawing turns to clutching; as the throbs of fire run up her leg, through her back, the pain renders all else invisible. The adrenaline is fading, she realizes.

All she can do is open the pocket watch and click it shut again, hoping it would wrap her in that protective bubble again.

Yet the wind continues to blow. She gasps and holds her breath tight in her stomach until she’s lightheaded, trying to dull the pain enough to move. She hoists herself halfway up, and she coughs from a mouthful of chimney smoke inhaled too fast; she opens the watch and closes it again. And again. By the third time, some part of her begins to recognize the futility of it, yet she still prayed and cursed in the same breath—as the fear in her heart flashes to panic, she keeps trying, praying for enough mana to return to her to just stop time one more time—

“Your little party trick is rather troublesome, you know.”

Izayoi’s blood runs cold. The low, even voice behind her is soothing in its deliberate cadence, and yet—the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. A primal revulsion stirs within her, a fear of the calm that comes just before the snap of the mousetrap.

Izayoi whirls around.

“Hmm. I never did give much credence to tricks, I suppose,” the vampire said. She now stands on the edge of the rooftop, her elegant scarlet dress fluttering in the wind, her hands brought up in front of her chest while her great black wings spread behind her, twitching in the wind.

Izayoi swallows her fear, where it burns in the pit of her stomach; she forces a smirk. The vampire’s eyes narrow, her easy smile fades; her expression shifts to one of puzzlement.

Izayoi pushes off the ground with one foot and leaps backwards.

The vampire only blinks—and Izayoi has thrown three knives straight for the head.

But with the throw, Izayoi had thrown herself off balance—she crashes into the ground, her pocket watch slipping from her hand and sliding a few feet away. Her breath is knocked from her; she scrambles to all fours in a moment, only to see the vampire holding one of the silver knives—it’d been plucked from the air, an instant before it would’ve slit her throat.

A devilish grin spreads across her face.

Before Izayoi could cry out, the vampire flicks the knife back; it moves faster than Izayoi could ever register. She only hears the whistle of the knife cutting through air, and feels a tap against her thigh; she looks down. The first few centimeters of the knife are buried into her good leg.

The searing pain begins anew—and she feels her muscles begin to stiffen. Every muscle of her leg contracts at once; she’s forced to her knees as the immobilizing poison on the silver blade takes hold. By an impulse, she rips the knife from her leg and lets it fall from her hand—

Izayoi’s vision swims again. The world blurs and flashes back for a second; she feels her consciousness slipping, but she manages to force her eyes open again.

But the vampire is gone.

Izayoi’s body stiffens, a gasp appears in her throat—but as she feels the vampire’s breath on the back of her neck, she chokes the sound. Her body breaks out in goosebumps. Her heartbeat is the only thing she hears, as if the very sound of it is a representation of her mortality in the midst of its final crescendo—

Izayoi closes her eyes and waits for the strike. For the cold bite of the fangs tearing into her flesh, for the warmth of her blood spilling down her neck and turning her clothes the same shade of scarlet.

But she feels nothing but the vampire’s breath.

Then a little rush of it as the feeling of it upon her skin changes shape, as the vampire widens her smile.

“How unfortunate,” she says, pulling away from Izayoi’s neck only then. “You’ve put so much effort into your time-stopping ability that you’ve forgotten to build your speed…I suppose your end makes more sense, then…”

Izayoi lets out a shaky breath as the panic begins to dull and confusion takes its place.

The vampire steps back in front of Izayoi with all the practiced grace of royalty; that easy smile had returned to her lips once again. “What a waste this would’ve all been…ending our little game from behind.”

Izayoi’s body gave in, then. The aching pain of the stab wound through her leg flares up and causes her knees to buckle. She tries to fight it, but all she succeeds in is bringing herself to her knees—her legs have finally been overwhelmed by the poison, and become locked in place. Izayoi feels the confusion and panic and dread mixing and pooling in her stomach; it churns as she sinks into despair by the realization:

This was all a game. Even from the beginning, Izayoi was being toyed with. Simply allowed to struggle against the inevitable…for what, amusement? As her thoughts spun over and over in her head, and all feeling in her legs turned to fuzz, then ice—she squeezes her eyes shut and begins to cry. 

Her will shatters, then—crushed by the very thing she hated.

“Hmm… I suppose you understand now.” The vampire’s voice turns lower, smoother. There’s a sense of pity in its almost maternal affectations, yet Izayoi could only hear condescension. “What happens to those who refuse a simple conversation…or perhaps, what should have happened to you…”

There was a rustle amidst the wind, and the light touch of a fingertip upon Izayoi’s chin. The vampire guides it, directing Izayoi’s gaze up with unbefitting tenderness. But only as she opened her eyes and shifted her head did Izayoi notice the pinprick of the vampire’s scarlet nail threatening her neck.

The vampire’s lips spread into a wide grin, eyes narrow. Her wings seem even larger than before; at their full span they shadowed Izayoi against the light of the full moon.

Izayoi returns the vampire’s gaze with whatever scraps of defiance she could muster. A fount of will stirs in her heart with it—she tries to lean forward, but the vampire’s nail only digs into her neck further. She coughs.

“Kill me…kill me already, you inhuman filth…get it…get it over with!” she growls.

The vampire’s lips twitch, before she breaks into a snicker. “Honestly, where does all this anger come from? What have I ever done to you to warrant you attacking me with no reason, no warning? Have I once lifted my finger towards you outside of simple self-defense?” the vampire says. Her tone has somehow shifted into not only condescending, but chiding, as if a mother reprimanding her child…

Izayoi feels a rush of hatred and shame burn through her heart—and with the glowing embers of her conviction, she draws the last of her silver knives. The vampire sees it, Izayoi knows that, sees her expression shift and her eyes glance down—but Izayoi’s too weak to throw it. Too scared to hold it to her neck.

So she clutches its handle as tightly as she can and holds it to her stomach.

“Kill me, or you will have to lick my blood from the floor…!”

“Calm yourself, calm…do think it through; such a messy way to go, that is. Besides, when did I ever say I intended to kill you?” The vampire withdraws her hand and waves it in the air, as if brushing away a fly; Izayoi slumps forward and holds her chin to her chest out of some vague defensive instinct. “If I had really intended to, I would not be giving you such respect as to talk to you like this, now would I?”

The vampire laughs—it’s a strangely innocuous, almost normal laugh, as if the vampire’s intimidations were all a mere charade, a mask that’d slipped for a moment. As if Izayoi was a child; a child who’d spat out some cute absurdity during a tantrum.

“Besides…over all of my four hundred years, how many people do you think laid a single scratch upon me?” the vampire says, before pointing to the razor thin cut on her cheek, made by a silver knife whizzing past her head. The cut is welling up with the vampire’s blood; the cut is painted a sickly pink from it, only slightly darker than her pale complexion.

“…what…”

“Three. You think I would kill one of that talent so lightly?”

“…what are you saying, vampire?”

“Ah, there you go again. Vampire really is quite rude, you know. My name is Remilia Sca—"”

“What are you saying?” Izayoi repeats a bit louder, a mix of anger and panic fueling her voice.

“…what a needless waste of talent, your death was.”

“Wh-what? My death, as in…?”

There is a rush of freezing wind to fill the silence between them, then; Remilia’s scarlet eyes rise to gaze into the night sky. Both are silent, but Remilia lets out a sigh.

Somehow, something in Remilia’s eyes had changed. Softened. There was a weariness to them that there wasn’t before…an impossible humanity to them, despite their cat-like pupils, despite their blood-red tinge. If Remilia really doesn’t intend to kill her…then perhaps she doesn’t even intend to hurt her. And never did. If it was all in self-defense, then—

“I don’t…understand…” Izayoi whispered, slowly bringing her trembling hands up to clutch her head.

“Child, do you believe that fate is immutable? That…if one could turn back time and experience the same events, that they would play out in the same order, again and again?” Remilia’s gaze wanders back to meet Izayoi’s eyes again. “Or, perhaps…if one can tell you of your fate beforehand…do you believe that by fighting with all your will and might, with everything you have—that you can overcome the hand you’ve been dealt? That you can fight back against the whims of fate?”

“I don’t understand…I don’t…”

And in the eyes that had burned scarlet just a few minutes ago, there was now only sorrow. A boundless sorrow, tinged with exhaustion—reflected in eyes that had seen centuries tick away. In eyes that had watched death and rebirth, over and over again, detached from it all by eternal youth.

“Your fate, child…was to be torn apart.”

Izayoi freezes. Just the very words sounded from Remilia’s lips cause her body to tremble—the specter of panic set her heart beating so fast she could feel the rush of blood throughout her body. Yet she’s frozen to the spot.

“Torn apart, on the night of December 13th, 1888…tonight,” Remilia says. “With your death: your memory, your accomplishments in the name of your own madness, were to be eviscerated and thrown upon the dreg heap of lives lost to our clan, banish you to be amongst those lost to history… What an awful waste it was.

“But…now, those futures are no more,” Remilia says, her lips curling into a crazed grin. “Against the will of the Scarlet Devil, fate is naught more than paper!”

“Then…I was to be…” Surely it’s a lie. Surely it’s simply a lie meant to manipulate her, and yet…why does Izayoi believe it?

Remilia’s gaze falls back upon Izayoi, her eyes glowing, burning scarlet. “I’ve watched your fate play out thousands of times, in thousands of ways, in thousands of futures! I’ve watched my mother bat you away within moments, turn everything you are into a mere footnote—but now, against the will of the Scarlet Devil, that horrible tyrant has been reduced to mere ash!

“And now, just as I tore my own fate in twain, I shall tear yours! In this future, your talent can be nurtured, it can take root and grow into what it should have been from the beginning…! And with that talent, I can finally change the fate of this world…I can purge it of our clan’s accursed influence once and for all!”

Remilia finishes into a sigh. She leans forward, and holds out her hand.

Izayoi draws a sharp breath and takes up the last silver knife, readying it to throw despite having no strength left with which to throw it.

“Why…why would I ever…help you?”

Remilia smiles. It was a gentle, warm smile…at first Izayoi thought it a trap, but as she met Remilia’s eyes and saw that kind sorrow again…Remilia spoke.

“Because fate decrees it, Sakuya.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Figure I've been doing this just for myself for long enough, and it'd be a good idea to upload some things I've written. Thank you very much for reading!


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